Oh how you danced that night, Mr. Vain. Your jacket was so perfectly devilish. I wonder why you wore it with such confidence—as if it was you who killed that sad, fat cow. With every swing and sway you cared less and less, didn't you? About how you had death rapped around your body. It kept you warm though, didn't it Mr. Vain?
And I wonder, how would you feel if I wore you? If I took that box cutter—the one I used for so long to sharpen color pencils—and cut your skin off your body. So that I could sell your muscle and fat on the market to the diabetic rich. So that I could dance in your warmth. So that I could find enjoyment, and comfort, in your death. Would that be fair?
Tell me Mr. Vain, just what were you thinking? What was going through your mind when the rain was pitter-pattering on the lost soul you so arrogantly displayed in rhythmic twirls. Did you think you were the prime of the crop? Or maybe you thought that the death was all for you. So that you could be so fancy in your dance. I bet the ladies swam in your aura that night—the way the movies tell them to when they see Cry Baby lookalikes.
Or maybe you are like me. I have a confession Mr. Vain, I too have leather. And like yours it has become waterlogged and dirty. But I don't wear death, I embody its spirit. So maybe I'm being harsh. Maybe you are just like me. But mostly I'm not too happy with me. Sometimes I do foolish things, sometimes I am Mr. Vain. And though I try not to, sometimes I make others cry. And then I cry myself, because no one should do such a thing.
So maybe, in your selfishness, you are better then me. Because I used to eat the dead. The dead that never lived, and for that I can never be forgiven. But you, without your guilt, will never worry. Unless you are like me, and if that's the case I feel sorry for you. Because when you spend your life carelessly doing what is done around you, and then suddenly do what you feel you should be doing, there is no going back.
But I'm glad you danced that night. I'm glad you twirled and swayed. Because it was beautiful enough to make me think. Not just about you and who you are. But about me, and who I was.
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